FRIENDS: The One with the First Cigarette and the Bowler Hat
by Lucretia Debrev
Summary: Chandler sits on a bench at 4 in the morning thinking about the first time he started smoking cigarettes and along comes a man in a bowler hat willing to listen to the reason why and Chandler explains why smoking has been a nearly lifelong habit for him.


"_You were doing so well for three years." _

He took another drag of his cigarette, the taste clung to his throat and stayed there. It was relaxing. With all that smoke in his throat he wasn't expected to say anything. He didn't have to.

They didn't understand-couldn't understand.

"_C'mon Chandler! It's Thanksgiving! Who doesn't eat turkey and stuffing on Thanksgiving?" _

It was dark out and he wasn't sure what time it was, but it'd be morning soon. He sat down on a bench and closed his eyes. He tried to think about nothing. All he wanted to do was smoke. He didn't want any childhood memories, and he didn't want to think about any of his friends, he just wanted to shut everyone out….

But he couldn't shut out Mr. Garibaldi.

"Excuse me sir? Are you alright?"

Chandler opened his eyes, only seeing a dark sky. He wondered if he'd just heard God or an angel.

_If an angel comes in the form of an old man in a black Bowler hat, sure. _

"Me? Yeah, I'm fine."

"No you're not," he said slowly, as he took a seat next to Chandler.

"Oh really? Why is that?"

He really didn't want to poor his heart out to anyone, he didn't want to see anyone, he just wanted some peace and quiet in the park. Which, apparently, wasn't possible.

"Anybody who comes outside alone at four o'clock in the morning to smoke is _not _alright. What's troublin' ya?"

Chandler begrudgingly stomped out his cigarette because the smoke couldn't be good for the old timer to breathe into his lungs, and the man didn't seem to be going anywhere.

_Maybe I should tell someone...after all...what were the odds I will ever see Mr. Bowler Hat again?_

"I haven't smoked in three years."

The man smiled at him, "That's not the only reason you're bummed out though, right?"

"Yeah. No. Look it's-it's complicated. It's a long story."

"I got all eternity, my friend."

"Well...ok. I may as well tell someone," the man nodded and Chandler continued, "I've been smoking since I was nine."

The man whistled and Chandler laughed faintly, "Yeah, I've got a record. A lot messed up things happened when I was nine. My parents got a divorce when I was nine."

"That why you started smoking?"

"Kind of. I remember the day I started smoking-in perfect detail. My dad had told my mom and me that he was a...a homosexual transvestite…"

Chandler expected the man to look at him either in disgust, or with too much curiosity, but he didn't-the man looked completely unfazed, as if he heard such things all the time.

"And well, one night...one night he brought his boyfriend over-Mr. Garibaldi."

He watched the smoke coming up from his crushed cigarette, while he choked on the smoke in his throat as he swallowed. Maybe the gang was right, maybe smoking could kill him.

"And?"

"And my mom was out of the house. She was with her publisher a lot and she worked late so...So my dad had Mr. Garibaldi over. I guess he wanted to convince me that things were final-that he was moving out- but he still wanted me to know...I mean, he didn't want me to think it was my fault he was leaving, I guess. I guess he wanted me to know that they guy was _real_."

"Ahuh, keep goin'."

"And Mr. Garibaldi asked my dad to go get him a cigarette-my mom hid them from him. She put them all around the house and it became like a scaevnger hunt to find them. Sometimes my dad would even give me five bucks if I found them, and I always did….But my point is, it took him a while to find them-and Mr. Garibaldi…."

He couldn't believe he was about to tell a complete stranger his biggest secret-a secret he'd kept for nearly his entire life, a vow he'd made to himself and kept longer than is promise to kick the cancer stick addiction.

"Mr. Garibaldi….t-touched me-God it made my skin crawl. He kept saying he liked the way I laughed. Because apparently I laughed when he…"

He was aware that something was touching his leg. He looked back at the man, but he had his hands placed on his hat so it wouldn't blow away in the wind. Chandler had been rubbing his hand back and forth along his right leg and he didn't even know he'd been doing it. It was as if the motion had been mechanical, instinctive, and he couldn't _stop_ it. Just like when Mr. Garibaldi...

"And so anyway, Dad came back and they talked for a while, and he explained that he loved me _and_ Mr. Garibaldi, and then Mr. Garibaldi left."

"Did you tell your dad?"

"I did after a few days. I didn't want to because...because I thought maybe they wouldn't get a divorce if they didn't have one _more_ thing to fight about, ya know? They were already using me as amo-saying things like 'this is what's best for _Chandler_ blah, blah'. And when I did come clean to my dad he just..."

He stopped rubbing his leg and ran his hand through his hair.

"He said if you kept quiet he'd give you your first cigarette, didn't he?"

Chandler rubbed his eyes, "Yeah."

He suddenly felt as tired as he should've been at four a.m. He felt like something was scratching behind his eyes and inside his throat.

"I mean," he chuckled, "I mean it's not like he raped me or anything. He just ran his hand over my back, and leg, that's not big deal, right? I mean...is it?"

"God, your friends, your relatives, they won't like you or love you any less if you told them what you just told me. And if they do then they're not worth knowing,", he paused to let that sink in,"You should pity Mr. Garibaldi because he's a very sick person for what he did to you, and get over Thanksgiving."

"How? I mean, of all the times to announce you're leaving your wife and son, why-why on Thanksgiving? How am I supposed to just let that go?"

"You let it go because it doesn't help you. Unforgiveness is the poison we drink to hurt others my friend. Do you have friends?"

"Yes."

"Then be happy. You have a job? A job you _like?_"

"Yeah I guess so."

"Then be _happy_."

The man put his hand on Chandler's shoulder gently, "You got an awful lot to live for, son. An awful lot to be grateful for. You've got friends, a roof over your head, a good job….Now you've got that thing off your chest, and you should feel good. It's gone. It can't hurt you anymore. You understand?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I understand."

"Good. As Charlie Chaplin would say: 'Nothing's permanent in this wicked world, not even our troubles."

"_You_ like Chaplin?"

"Who doesn't? He's one of the best out there."

"Yeah you're right. And what about Buddy Hackett?"

"Oh he's great too. I liked Buddy Hackett in It's A Mad Mad-"

A huge grin spread across Chandler's face, "Mad World, that's right. He was hilarious in that flick. Remember 'Who are you? The hostess?'"

They both began to laugh. The man had a rich, hearty laugh. It was sincere, and contagious.

"And what about-"

Chandler heard a little dog bark a few yards away.

The man got up from the bench and said, "Well, it looks like that's my cue. Come here Clarence! Com 'ere...ugh. That dog-never comes when I call him. I take him for a walk in the park and how does he repay me? Oh well, he's not my dog, thank God. I'm just watching over him for a friend. Well, I better go find him."

He started to walk away after the dog but then paused and turned around.

"If you ever need anyone to talk to...just call."

"Yeah, yeah I will, thanks-you've been a big help, thank you."

Chandler fumbled around in his pockets for a pen and something to write on, "Wait! I don't have your number," he called, "Hec, I don't even have your _name_-"

He looked up and the man was gone.

Chandler looked around in all directions. He started walking in the direction the man had orginally been walking, but he was nowhere to be seen. Chandler laughed and looked around, suddenly aware of how alone he was. He couldn't hear any footsteps. He couldn't hear any barking from Clarence. He couldn't see the man in the black bowler hat or the dog-not that he'd seen the dog to begin with.

_That was odd. _

Chandler started walking quickly-he looked around madly in the dark. He walked all around the park, and then around the park again, but Mr. Bowler Hat was gone. He eventually gave up and started walking back to his apartment.

He took out a cigarette, almost instinctively as he walked, and looked at it. It felt so natural in his hand, but he remembered the look on his friends' faces when they saw he'd broken his three year streak. Especially Monica, she'd always been happy he'd quite, and the disappointment in her eyes was what had struck a cord of guilt in him, that was why he'd put it out.

He threw the cigarette in the trash can. Then one by one he threw out the whole pack.

Cigarette: "Dad, good riddance to you but...I hope you're happy with your life."

Cigarette: "Mom, despite how awful you were at raising me, thanks for trying and doing the best you could."

Cigarette: "Monica, you've always had faith in me to kick the habit and...and I'll make sure I do this time."

"And this last one's to you, Mr. Bowler Hat or who ever you are: Thanks for listening, and thanks for the advice."


End file.
